


Not all weeds are ugly things, some sprout beautiful flowers

by Kasimere



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Did I mention angst, F/M, F/M sex, Female Mage Hawke - Freeform, Gen, Masturbation, Mentions Of Infidelity, Sex, Smut, Timeskips, Vague, but in a poetic angst filled way, but its arty smut, i think, like the pulp smut yo' mamma used to read, lots of garden metaphors for some reason, nothing overly explicit but its very prominent, very 'tasteful'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28038432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasimere/pseuds/Kasimere
Summary: She appeared in his doorway, a bottle of something red in one hand and two pristine glasses in the other.“Darling, I’m home.”Hawke and her lovers, her friends, and her thoughts.
Relationships: Cole & Female Hawke (Dragon Age), Female Hawke/Varric Tethras, Fenris/Female Hawke
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Not all weeds are ugly things, some sprout beautiful flowers

It was humid and the heat was rising until she was red in the face, but she was undeterred. 

Her hand, nearly moving independently from her body, slid beneath the covers draped across her body as she lay facing the canopy of the bed. The  _ less  _ occupied hand was  _ preoccupied  _ working its magic to bunch her hair into a strong fist. Anything to feel like  _ something  _ was touching her, something that wasn’t herself. 

Not since Fenris had walked out had she had someone in here. The walls had begun to feel oppressive, growing taller, closer, and darker. And now here she lay on the edge of suffocation, the air was soupy and the walls were metal in the sun. Trapped in a furnace and the only comfort to be sought was from herself. It wasn’t all bad of course, at least over the last few months she had perfected the feeling of his body pressed against hers, pinned to a wall because they  _ wanted  _ it. Both mutual in an act that wasn’t love just sex. Perhaps, it could grow, she was sure the seed had already sprouted but now it was wilting in the sun. Next to it, the weed that never quite relented, remained steadfast. 

However, the  _ weed  _ was setting its roots in once again, more and more the image of the elf had begun to blur, falling back into the black and dispersing into an older want. A friend, and that’s why it was so  _ unwanted _ . 

Varric was not an object, not a tool to be used to aid her slim fingers in her pursuit of a hollow pleasure found in between the legs. There was love there, between them, something platonic and unspoiled all thanks to him. Despite her attempts, fuck, she finally had a good thing going and now here she was…

Marian pressed harder, holding her breath she dug her legs into the soft mattress as the fantasy she tried to grasp onto flickered and repeated, skipping over parts and returning to the start. The same play, unfinished and recycled with a different star each time. A friend she couldn’t let go of, and the lover that’d let her go. 

Picking up speed she writhed with the heat and yanked her head to the side but it was fruitless. Her neck had anticipated the motion, the hand and head bound to the same heart. Same brain. 

And if there was one person she couldn’t stand to be alone with, it was herself. 

The differences between them were blurry, one she knew the other she’d have to guess so slowly they mixed together. The actions of one with the face of another. It had all seemed to incomprehensible, her mother had loved her father and that was that. People found wives, people found husbands. People fell out of love with one and moved on, or they died with their one true love. They didn’t love two, in the same way, yet different, in ways that couldn’t correlate. At least, not to her. 

The fantasy had long since soured by the time the wave of sensation sent her into paroxysm. Marian deflated and her hands fell limp in tandem with her eyes opening to stare up at that canopy devoid of another pair. 

\----

When they reconnected, after the first time, thoughts of her  _ friend _ burst like a soap bubble and she was left with the taste of expensive wine and the smell of musk. Deft hands crafted from a thousand fights she hadn’t been privy towards, travelled the expanse of her body. Tearing into her in the most exquisite way, applied force and adrenaline reaching out and snapping around her. Bliss in an accelerated heart beat, confessions panted and broken apart by grunts and sighs and keens. A weight that affected inside and out, sitting heavy and tightly. Pressure on soft flesh that didn’t hurt in the way she was so fucking sick of. 

The lines etched into his skin lit up as slowly as liquid metal poured in a cast. Reacting to her magic in a way only he could. 

\----

But she kissed  _ him  _ after the Fade, alone far away from the camp in the rubble of someone else’s fight that they’d been thrust into.  _ Just like old times _ . 

Like old times she felt the weeds wrap around her neck and constrict her breath. The shadows that stalked her at every opportunity screamed at her infidelity, wicked girl. Awful girl. Breaking hearts and lives and promises. 

_ Hush, oh hush.  _ She prayed, she was too preoccupied breaking the vow she’d made when she’d kissed him several times before. They were friends, and that love was stronger than the bonds that stitched together time itself. She promised to not let her contemptuous want get in the way, not again.

Nor again, or again, or again, or again. Not after the tavern, or the alley, or the wake, or the mansion, or the fire… 

But now, again, large calloused hands framed her face. The smell of parchment and wood, and  _ home _ . A stable port in a storm. Never walking away, leaving that responsibility to her. 

He broke away, and sighed turning back to look forth into the distant lights of the campfire. 

“I suppose the elf is gonna be worried sick, wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

She was already in it.

\----

In the dark, she could pretend this was another day as any other. The firelight flickering off their faces soft enough to grant grace to aging features. Fenris’ hands cradled hers with the utmost care as they swayed slowly in each other's embrace. One last time, she hadn’t orchestrated this, nor wanted it. 

The love wasn’t missing, nor had it faded. It remained the same all these years later, no, it was them that had changed. A seed from long ago and sprouted into a vast tree whose branches now split so far apart it was impossible to reconcile. No, reconcile was the wrong word, no wrong had been done. Not by them, anyway, time was to blame. As with all things, time removed the joy one always tried to cling to. At least this time she was given the opportunity to be at peace with it. The hands grasping hers tightened and Marian had to bite her lip. Shunning tears. 

“I am yours,” she said, and meant. 

“And I yours, always.” He whispered back. 

Breaking away from her just enough to let her slip to the end of his arm, he led her to the bedroom where she would lie with him for tonight.

But come morning, he would be gone just as it had been all those years ago. 

\----

She appeared in his doorway, a bottle of something red in one hand and two pristine glasses in the other. 

“Darling, I’m home.”

\----

It was different, it was dangerous, an act to make or break everything she’d held dear for decades. 

It was softer, in a way she hadn’t expected. He wasn’t by any means treating her like a delicate object, but neither was he fierce with his love, instead dedicated to making sure she  _ felt  _ it. However, she’d never lay with her best friend before. Perhaps they would be time for it to change, perhaps now was a moment to revere, a scenario she thought would never come to pass. The moments were fluid, paced, gliding on soft flesh and retreating like a calm lap at the side of a lake.

No ethereal light dripped through the scars on his body, and she had to make do with feeling them out in the dark. Stubble against her skin combined with whispered nothings, slivers of words and small huffs of laughter. 

Not all weeds are ugly things, some sprout beautiful flowers. 

\----

Marian awoke sometime in the early morning. She remained with her eyes glued to the soft light creeping from the balcony ever closer to the bed. 

A light powerful enough to draw the outline of Varric as he remained thoroughly asleep. Snoring and staying as still as a rock. Reaching out for his exposed chest she stopped, and withdrew into a sitting position.

She’d thought of her history, with him, with Fenris… He still wrote to her, occasionally, last night had been an anniversary. It had sat wrong in the pit of her stomach. After all this time, the tree had yet to come down. Even though the garden it’d previously overshadowed had bloomed into something beautiful. 

Leaving the peace of the bedroom she padded downstairs, already preparing for the fact she would  _ not  _ be alone. Of course, the Viscount had servants but they weren’t the people she was worried about meeting. 

No, that pleasure would be left for Cole. 

She’d been on the sofa, staring at the ashes of the long dead fire, when she heard him enter, well more accurately she heard the sound he deliberately made. The clink of his armour being strapped into place, today must’ve been yet another where he joined Aveline in her unending quest to rid Kirkwall of its seedy underbelly.

The spirit wasn’t a guard, no, he simply worked  _ with  _ the guard. As it turned out, whatever Fade powers he retained were very useful in crime solving and prevention. Kirkwall was shaping up to be some form of a beacon when it now came to law enforcement. So much so it was almost funny to reflect upon how it used to be. 

“You were very loud last night,” He said plainly. He’d gotten better at that, speaking plainly. Another influence that probably stemmed from Aveline. 

“I’m sorry, Cole. I’ll ask Varric to use a gag next time.”

“That wasn’t… what I meant.” He came round the sofa to look at her, an odd thing, somehow looking older yet not. Like only his impression of humanity was aging and not the body itself. He pulled a dagger from its sheath to inspect it. 

“You’re still feeling guilty, for the choices you made a long time ago. Why?” 

“I don’t expect you to understand it,” He gave her a look, a small frown pinched at his features and as his mouth opened to rebut her, she waved it away. “No, not like that. I wouldn’t expect you to understand because you’re not an  _ idiot. _ ” 

“He loves you and you love him, but he also loves  _ her  _ and you love  _ him _ . It is confusing.” He admitted with a heavy sigh, 

“I feel like I’m using them, alternating when I can’t have one or the other.” 

“You aren’t the only person making the choice, they are too. You never think, they, or us, you only think  _ you _ .”

“Shit Cole, you don’t have to channel my mother. I get it, I only think about myself-”

“Untrue, but even if it was you still don’t understand. You think this way because you were taught to. It was always your responsibility, your wins, your losses, your fault. It’s  _ not  _ your fault.” Marian’s mouth slowly came to a close, Cole put his dagger away in favour of meeting her eyes with a strange confidence that he’d found over the years. 

“But they both chose to do what they chose to do. You didn’t make them do anything, they were never objects. It wasn’t all you. It isn’t just  _ you  _ anymore, and  _ I  _ don’t think it ever was.” 

Marian scoffed a laugh and wiped at her face. The spirit, who so often rambled, refused to let up. 

“They love you, you love them. They love other people too. Everyone is capable of making… a choice, to be who they want.” He trailed off, seemingly lost in his own head before being brought back with a nod. 

He moved away then, towards the parlour where he crouched down to pet the sleeping dog, his routine ritual, making him ready to go on his way, returning at nightfall with some scandalous tale of Darktown. 

Marian remained staring at her family crest that hung above the burnt out fireplace, but was still attentive when the young man spoke over his shoulder.

“You can breath here, Hawke. You are not alone.”

“Thank you.”

“Be kind to Varric, he’s still upset.” The tone of his voice caused her to look over at him, an apologetic look on her face. Oh, how much the spirit cared for that bloody dwarf… 

“Don’t worry, I’ll give him my full attention.”

Cole smiled, but there was a slight edge to it. He straightened, and left. Marian, in turn, stood and stretched her body until she stood on her tiptoes. She needed to get dressed, she supposed, before Varric joined her for breakfast, not knowing she knew about the ring stored in the pocket of his duster. 

  
_ They  _ had a lot to do today, it seemed. 

**Author's Note:**

> right that was that. so, me myself, realise in this hawke is coming across kinda like a dick? maybe? i dunno, i still love her. she makes mistakes. as do we all. but also, shits complicated. plus this was me kinda reconciling how i wanted to romance varric, but couldnt so i romanced fenris instead. so in that respect i feel you girl. 
> 
> babbys first smut yoo, truth be told i dont read much smut cus tbh, it aint a big thing for me. but i do like using this time to write some angsty shit using the good ol' ongo bongo train in tunnel as a framework.
> 
> i do seem to have a style for DA, hawke and varric angst with some random cole at the end. oh well. doesnt have to be perfect, does it? 
> 
> kudos and comments welcome, hate or love it lemme know. always worth hearing feedback. have fun. also, DA4 yoooo. lets go lads. lets fucking goooo.


End file.
